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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690369">The Scottish Might Be Onto Something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCrusader/pseuds/QueerCrusader'>QueerCrusader</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Sails</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Feminization, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:01:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCrusader/pseuds/QueerCrusader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Thomas gets to experience the joy of James in a dress, and one time Silver does too. This is pretty canon compliant, events set from before portrayed in the show until after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow/Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorsally/gifts">sailorsally</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Massive thanks to <a href="https://sailorsally.tumblr.com/">sailorsally</a> for inspiring me for this fic and giving me ideas for several of these chapters! I have a concrete idea of each what chapter will contain, but I'm posting these as I'm writing them so updates might not be completely regular. (Especially since this is now like, my 4th Black Sails WIP...)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Miranda?” Thomas calls out. He always feels a little self-conscious when stepping into a woman’s store, especially a tailor’s. There are several booths and curtains in the back where women may be hiding, half-dressed as they get fabric pinned to their bodies. It is completely inappropriate for him to be here, but Miranda had sent a courier for him, requesting his aid. He’s not entirely sure why; between the two of them, she certainly is the one with a fashionable eye.</p><p>He briefly apologises to the store clerk, who seems scandalised by his presence, explaining his wife had called for him. It only seems to mollify the woman a little.</p><p>“Miranda, where are you?” he calls out again, and to his relief, this time he hears her reply.</p><p>“Second booth from the left, Thomas,” she replies, her voice muffled from behind the curtain. “I am desperate for your advice. Come take a look and tell me if this is appropriate enough for the parliamentary dinner.”</p><p>He makes his way over swiftly, but when he sticks his head around the curtain, his eyes widen, and he feels himself pale.</p><p>“Lord Hamilton!” Lieutenant McGraw exclaims, his freckled skin flushing until he is almost as red as his hair. And for good reason, Thomas thinks.</p><p>The man is draped in the beginnings of a deep purple ballgown. If Thomas isn’t mistaken, he is even wearing a corset to cinch his waist. The fabric is pinned relatively loosely to his frame, especially around the bust, and it is clear the gown wasn’t designed for him, but it still looks <em>spectacular</em>. His shoulders, usually broad and stiff, are a little slouched to accommodate the more effeminate shape of the dress, and in result they look more slender. Through a slit in the side of the gown’s torso, Thomas glimpses the whalebone corset, with a chemise underneath to keep it from pinching the lieutenant’s skin. It strains a little against his muscles, and Thomas’ mouth waters.</p><p>“I am so sorry,” he breathes, and the effort it takes to quickly retreat his head from the booth is enormous. “I was looking for my wife.”</p><p>“It’s not for me.”</p><p>Thomas stills. Is the lieutenant hoping to strike up a conversation? Or is he simply desperate to explain himself?</p><p>“I’m the best man at a wedding,” the lieutenant speaks from the other side of the curtain, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “The bride is… Well, she has a… slightly larger frame. She couldn’t make it to one of her tailoring sessions, and since we are moderately similar in build, the groom asked me to step in.”</p><p>“How magnanimous of you,” Thomas croaks, then clears his throat. “I’m sure the couple will shower you with gratitude.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m certain I won’t hear the end of it, one way or another,” McGraw chuckles nervously, but the tension in the air is bleeding away. “I must say, though, while the corset is a tad uncomfortable, the skirt is a <em>delight</em>.”</p><p>There is a snort from a few booths down that Thomas recognises as decidedly Miranda’s, which he pointedly ignores. “Oh?” he asks instead, burning with curiosity and not a little amount of want.</p><p>“Very breezy,” the lieutenant says. “Surprisingly warm too, when more layers are added. The Scottish might be onto something, here.”</p><p>“Are you suggesting we should adopt the kilt in England, lieutenant?” Thomas asks, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s spotted the ghost of McGraw’s thighs and calves in that Navy uniform; his mind reels at the thought of them bared under a kilt. “Is there a pattern for the McGraw clan?”</p><p>“I’m not too well-versed with my heritage, sadly,” the lieutenant replies. “Perhaps, in order to avoid butchering it, instead I should go for a neutral pattern, rather than tartan. Or perhaps we should stick to dresses instead. Men’s fashion has been transferred to women in the past; I don’t see why it can’t occur the opposite direction.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure that is far less likely to offend anyone than wearing the wrong tartan,” Thomas jokes, but his voice is weak. <em>Dear God</em>, he thinks. <em>Yes. Please, a thousand times yes, let men wear frocks. Specifically this man</em>. It would be a crime to keep James McGraw from ever wearing a dress again.</p><p>He hears Miranda clear her throat, then, and quickly makes his way over to what he now realises to be her booth. When he peeks in, she looks decidedly smug.</p><p>“My left, I meant,” she tells him drily.</p><p>Thomas is unsure whether to resent her for the resulted embarrassment, or kiss her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It is two weeks later, and James is lying in his bunk aboard the <em>HMS Victory</em>. The wedding has come and gone, and seeing the bride in the very dress lord Hamilton spied him in was shockingly torturous. He felt his cheeks redden at the sight, feeling like the gown was perhaps tainted somehow. It looked good on her, at least. Far better than he’s sure it looked on him.</p><p>Though the gown was only half-done and clearly not tailored to him, James would never guess as much from the way Hamilton had regarded him. His eyes had been wide with shock, yes, but then they’d turned dark in a way James has never been regarded with by any man.</p><p>He’s sure he misinterpreted. He must have. Men don’t look upon each other in such a manner; it is abhorrent and unheard of. Out at sea there are the occasional fumbled interactions in the dark between the sailors, of course, but for a lord, a <em>man</em> so good and proper as Hamilton to regard another man with lust?</p><p>Perhaps the gown confused the lord’s mind for a moment. He saw a woman’s dress, and consequently a woman within it. The undergarments on display, bared beneath unfurled seams, would surely be tantalising to anyone.</p><p>James lets out a low moan. His nightshirt hangs loosely about his frame, and he has hiked it up a little to bare his legs. The thought of being confused for a woman conflicts him to the point of confusion, but the memory of lord Hamilton’s dark eyes on his form has his cock twitch in his fist. James might not know how to feel, but his cock has clearly made up its mind. He pulls his shirt up a little higher, imagining it to be the layered skirts he wore in the shop. It is all too easy to conjure the memory.</p><p>Part of him tries to suppress the thoughts, but they come to him regardless in the dark of the ship’s hull. He imagines Hamilton stepping through the curtain of his booth, eyes glinting darkly. He imagines hiking up his skirts, and the lord stepping close to cup his groin with a spit-slick palm.</p><p>James has to bring a hand to his mouth to prevent the sailors around him from waking, and in his mind, it’s lord Hamilton’s hand, silencing him so the store clerk, or even his wife a few booths down, won’t hear them. His next groan is low and drawn out, only barely muffled.</p><p>He thrusts into his own hand, the angle tricky in the confined space. His knees can’t fall wide enough apart for his liking, and finding solid footing to push off against to thrust up his hips seems near impossible. Even so, his cock <em>weeps</em> at the thought of lord Hamilton’s hand on his hip, holding up his skirts so he can have access to his cock. He imagines the man ghosting his mouth along James’ collarbone. He doesn’t know him well enough – not yet – so he doesn’t know what would be in character, what Hamilton might do, might say to a lover. There is fire in his eyes when he debates, but is there equal heat in his actions when he beds? Is he well-spoken, articulate, or does he want to wordlessly enjoy the physicality? Perhaps all propriety falls away behind closed doors, and all that leaves his mouth is utter <em>filth</em>.</p><p>But this is James’ fantasy. Though he may not know for certain what the reality would ever be, for tonight he decides that the man would be vocal, perhaps even filthily so. If he’s going to debase himself with humiliating fantasies, he might as well go all in.</p><p>So he imagines lord Hamilton jacking him slowly but not gently, stroking his thighs, reaching behind his balls to press against his taint as he scrapes his teeth against James’ throat. He imagines him whispering, <em>such a pretty wife you make, lieutenant</em>.</p><p>His orgasm hits him out of nowhere, and he comes <em>hard</em>, toes curling and stars dancing on his retina while the air is punched from him in an audible gasp.</p><p>The fabric of his nightshirt is ruined after that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James has been involved with the Hamiltons for a little while now, and they seem to have caught on to his interest in dressing effeminately.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New tags added for this chapter, it is a <i>lot</i> more explicit than the previous one, with some humiliation, feminisation (if that's a word) and basically referring to James' privates as biologically female at times. If that squicks you out or triggers you, then this really isn't the fic for you, I'm so sorry. For the rest of you, enjoy more smut.</p><p>PS: I wrote this while tipsy at 2am. I have not proofread it. No betas here, we die like men</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Thomas wakes, his bed is empty. Considering the fact that he has not one lover to share it with, but two, this is a rare occurrence. But then again, guessing from his grogginess and the grey light pouring into the room through a crack in the curtains, he gathers he must have slept in quite severely. That too doesn’t happen often; between the three of them, Thomas is the closest to a true morning person (James is the furthest, despite any habits the Navy tries to drill into him).</p><p>He yawns and cards his fingers through his hair, trying half-heartedly to comb it into something decent-looking. He realises it’s getting long again, but he’s not in the mood to visit a barber anytime soon. Perhaps Miranda is willing to attempt taking the scissors to his scalp again; the last time it didn’t turn out half bad. Not to mention that there are always more wigs to hide the damage.</p><p>He reluctantly drags himself from the bed, yawning again. He sleeps in the nude, a habit he had picked up a long time ago when it turned out he could in fact have a good sex life with his wife, contrary to what crude conversations echoing around the House of Lords made him believe. With James now in the mix, he has an even greater appreciation for his life choices. Remembering that they had given their servants the Sunday off, he feels comfortable in remaining naked as he goes on quest around the house in search of his lovers.</p><p>It turns out they have migrated to Miranda’s bedroom, perhaps out of fear of waking Thomas. Miranda was given her own room when she and Thomas first married, out of fear that their arranged match might not work out, and because they simply had the space in the large house. The room rarely got used until James came along. Miranda now occasionally sleeps there when she wants to give the men their privacy. It has become a bit of a haven for her, and today, she has brought James into the space.</p><p>Although it takes Thomas a moment to register that it is indeed James who is sitting there.</p><p>His back is towards the door as he is seated on the little pouffe by Miranda’s vanity. He faces the mirror while Miranda, clad in only one of Thomas’ nightshirts, gently works her brush through his copper locks. The two of them are chatting amicably, laughing softly every now and then. Thomas watches them reverently, in awe of the fierce love for them both rising in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him with its warmth.</p><p>But what really threw him is the outfit James is wearing.</p><p>Though perhaps <em>outfit</em> is a strong word; all it is, really, is one of Miranda’s silk dressing gowns, pale green and pink and hanging low in his elbows. His hair, far longer than Thomas’, is spilling down the top of his freckled back, glowing like fire, and when his eyes meet Thomas’ in the reflection of the looking-glass, Thomas is struck simply with how <em>beautiful</em> he looks. The gown, his hair, the softness in his eyes, all look strangely effeminate in contrast against his corded muscles. Thomas feels his mouth dry.</p><p>“Won’t you join us?” Miranda asks, a knowing smile on her lips. Of course she knows, she’s always known just what goes through Thomas’ mind. He walks into the room almost as if in a trance, noticing how James’ gaze briefly rakes down Thomas in the reflection.</p><p>“Everything alright?” James asks, and Thomas lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head to chase away the reveries, root him in the here and now.</p><p>“My whole life, I suspected I held a stronger attraction to the physicality of men,” he admits as he comes to stand behind James. Miranda takes a small step aside to give him the space, and he would kiss her if he wasn’t so busy to get his hands on James’ partly-bared chest. “I love women – well, I love Miranda – but <em>men</em>…” Another chuckle escapes his lips. “And yet, here you are, making me question myself.”</p><p>He leans in, and James shivers under his touch, his words, Thomas’ breath on the shell of his ear.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s the contradiction,” James says softly, one eyebrow cocked. “The taboo.”</p><p>Thomas huffs, a silent laugh that brushes down the sensitive skin of James’ throat. “An interesting theory,” he ponders, his fingers skating up now and over his shoulders, then down his back to where the silk gown hangs low. “There is certainly something to be said for the thrill of the unspeakable…”</p><p>“Thomas,” Miranda quietly chastises him. She can hear his tone shift from enticing to inquiring, and quickly steps in to prevent him from turning this into a salon session. He gratefully smiles at her. She always knows how to keep him centred in the moment, focused on the pleasure before him. Alternatively, she is equally talented at keeping his head straight when he is on the verge of being carried away by his emotions, but in this moment, it is pleasure they are chasing. James sits tensely before him, excitement and anticipation pulling his muscles taut.</p><p>“Won’t you stand for me?” Thomas murmurs, and James wordlessly follows, rising to his feet. Before he can turn to face Thomas, however, his lover stills him with a hand on his hips.</p><p>“Stay,” Thomas tells him, low. There is a thrill in having James so willing, eager and pliant for him. The man was trained to follow orders, and though Thomas senses that James has it in him to give as good as he gets – better, perhaps – he submits <em>beautifully</em> for the Hamiltons.</p><p>“Hands on the vanity,” he orders. James follows suit, and when Thomas meets his gaze in the mirror, he sees the man’s pupils are blown wide. Thomas’ gaze drops, and he can just see in the reflection the tip of James’ cock; flushed, erect and poking out from the gown. He feels his mouth water, but it’s not where he’s planning to administer his love.</p><p>He softly presses open-mouthed kisses along James’ neck, teeth gently nipping at the juts of his spine, tongue pressing flat against the skin. James’ breath hitches, but when his hips jerk ever so slightly, attempting to chase friction against the edge of the vanity, Thomas’ two-handed grip on his hips increases to still him.</p><p>“Don’t move, love,” Miranda mutters, her fingers carding through James’ hair, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, his breath growing slower, deeper. “Eyes open,” she tells him. “Stay with us.”</p><p>They snap open again, and Thomas is glad for it. James was retreating to some private place of pleasure, when everything he could possibly want is right here. Miranda places herself on the corner of the vanity, one leg hiked up, right beside where James’ hands are planted. She never stops running her fingers through his hair, eyes shining as she holds his gaze. Her free hand brushes across her own breasts over the thin fabric of the nightshirt, slowly working her nipples with little pleased breaths before caressing down her side, across her stomach, and back to her breasts.</p><p>While she holds James grounded, Thomas works his way further down James’ back. He sucks a couple of marks into the skin, simply because he can, because he wants to see them bloom purple to match the soft pink of the gown, because he loves the thought of their marks hidden under James’ uniform.</p><p>When he reaches the silk, James shivers violently. “It’s alright,” Thomas mutters into his skin as if calming a spooked horse, thumbs brushing gently across his hips. “It’s alright.” He mouths against the fabric of the gown, soaking it in spit. He quickly takes a moment to glance at Miranda, just to assess what she might think of the potential damage he is doing to her gown. But she simply rolls her eyes and smiles, silently granting him permission. He lets out a low moan, one that reverberates against the base of James’ spine, and it causes another shudder in the man.</p><p>“I don’t think you understand just how <em>pretty</em> you look,” Thomas tells him hotly. James shivers again under his touch, and Thomas presses his mouth against the man’s back, letting his lips brush along silk and skin as he speaks. “You look so <em>soft</em>. You almost glow.”</p><p>“What is it you wish from me, Thomas?” James asks, his voice a low plead. “How do you want me?”</p><p>Thomas lets out a low moan. “Oh,” he breathes, “I want you like this. Tonight, I want you soft and demure.” He sucks through the silk, and again James shivers as he works his way further down. He can feel the dip of where his hips meet his arse, and presses his tongue into it. Above him, James moans.</p><p>“I want your pretty hole,” Thomas tells him then. “I will make you <em>soaking wet </em>for me.”</p><p>At that, James lets out a startled groan, and his hips jerk again, but above Thomas, Miranda briefly tightens her grip on James’ hair.</p><p>“Listen to Thomas,” she tells him quietly. “You will not move until he tells you to, or I will punish you. Do you understand?”</p><p>“<em>God</em>,” James breathes. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”</p><p>“Do you need me to tell you your punishment?” Miranda asks, not unkind. They have always put the utmost focus on communication in this house. But James shakes his head.</p><p>“I trust you,” he tells her earnestly. “With my life, my heart. I am in your hands.”</p><p>Thomas feels his heart flutter. He adores James, loves them both. He feels truly blessed to have them.</p><p>“Shall I fuck you then, James?” he asks with a slight smirk. “Fuck your hole with my tongue?”</p><p>James lets out a lengthy moan, but he manages to keep his movements in check this time. “Please,” he begs.</p><p>“Tell me,” Thomas presses. “Ask me fully. Be <em>very specific</em>.”</p><p>“Make me wet,” James breathes. Thomas takes a moment to look at him in the mirror, and James looks almost <em>wild</em>, his eyes black and his hair a mess through Miranda’s administrations. “Fuck my hole.” He nearly chokes on the next words, but then a muscle in his cheek jumps, a feral little smile flashing on his face. “Fuck my cunt.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Thomas swears. He can’t go slow like this any longer, and he drops down to his knees. Above him, Miranda has leaned in with a gasp to steal a filthy kiss from James’ lips.</p><p>Thomas reverently brushes along the silk, rubbing it against the back of James’ thighs as he hikes it up until he’s palming James’ cheeks. “I knew you had attitude the moment we met,” he tells James, who stands taut with anticipation. “But I never could have imagined the length of that <em>mouth</em> on you.”</p><p>“Perhaps it’s the effect of Miranda’s gown on me,” James quips against Miranda’s lingering mouth, and he earns a sharp nip at his bottom lip for that, causing him to hiss.</p><p>“You think I’m mouthy?” Miranda asks, but there is mirth in her voice, Thomas is grateful to hear. “I wonder, do you mean to imply that I’m foul-mouthed, or well-spoken?”</p><p>“Merely that you are sharp-tongued,” James replies. His breath hitches when Thomas lifts the gown to reveal his buttocks. “Clever, witty, one might say.”</p><p>Miranda lets out a huff of laughter, and brings her free hand up to his mouth. “Why don’t we put yours to good use, hmm?” she asks, her index and middle fingers resting on his bottom lip. He obediently opens his mouth and lets the digits slip in to rest on his tongue.</p><p>“Thomas?” Miranda asks, and Thomas smiles. He takes a handful of James’ arse and parts his cheeks, revealing his hole.</p><p>“I want you to focus, James,” he tells him, letting his breath brush over the fluttering rim. “Focus on every feeling. Then administer my movements to Miranda’s fingers. Can you do that?”</p><p>James lets out a low groan. “I’ll try,” he manages to reply around the digits placed carefully on his tongue. Thomas smiles.</p><p>“Good girl.”</p><p>Just the praise has James gasping, but when Thomas leans in and lets his light stubble rub against the inside of James’ cheeks, he has to shake with the effort to keep himself still.</p><p>“So beautiful for me,” Thomas whispers against James’ hole, not entirely caring if James understands him. He lets his tongue flick out, brushing against the puckered rim before him. The lightness of his musk tells him James has cleaned himself recently and vigorously, and he briefly wonders if this was Miranda’s doing, if she knows Thomas so well that she anticipated this. But it still tastes so distinctly like James, and he licks a stripe up his hole now, causing the man above him to shiver.</p><p>“You’re doing well,” Miranda purrs above him, taking the time to praise and encourage James when Thomas’ mouth is otherwise engaged. “Doing so beautifully well for us, James. Let us hear you.”</p><p>Thomas licks another stripe up across his hole, and James lets out a soft moan. Clearly, he needs to step up his game.</p><p>He presses lingering kisses against James’ cheeks, and he can feel the man trying so hard not to chase his mouth, to physically beg for more, beg for his tongue. Thomas decides to show mercy for such good behaviour, and he delves back in, strengthening his grip to spread James’ cheeks wider, before pressing the flat of his tongue against James’ rim.</p><p>James huffs above him, and Miranda lets out a laugh. “You’re being cruel, darling, “ she tells Thomas. “I can feel what you’re doing to him. Give him what he craves, he’s more than earned it.”</p><p>“Has he?” Thomas asks as he pulls back for a moment, and above him, James lets out a groan of frustration. “Damnit, Thomas, <em>please</em>,” he speaks around Miranda’s fingers, the words a little lilted through the obstacle. Thomas laughs. He and Miranda will never punish James for mouth or attitude, only if he’s not listening. So he allows the frustration and the swearing.</p><p>“Go on,” he finally says, and he plunges his tongue deep inside James.</p><p>He’s still fucked loose from last night, so Thomas’ tongue goes in with easy, but James still lets out a hoarse shout.</p><p>“Tongue, James,” Miranda reminds him with a murmur. Thomas can hear the smile on her lips, and he knows she is loving the sweet torture he is experiencing. She would lick every moan from their mouths if she could. But instead, she remains collected and proud, taking charge beautifully while James submits to them.</p><p>Thomas starts working James’ hole in earnest now. He fucks him slow and deep, flattening and stretching his tongue within, curling it to find the right spot and send James howling. His cheeks quickly become slick with the spit gathered there, and it is so similar to when he has his head buried between Miranda’s legs, lapping at the slick leaking down her thighs, his cock <em>throbs</em> with it.</p><p>“I’ll have my fingers back now, if it’s all the same to you gentlemen,” Miranda speaks breathlessly a few moments later, and Thomas briefly retreats to witness her. His nightshirt hangs wide around her shoulders, and she has pulled it down to reveal her breasts. Her curls cascade down her shoulders, and she is flushed all the way down to her collarbones, her eyes shining. When she meets Thomas’ gaze, she smiles, and he nods. She pulls her fingers from James’ mouth then, who keens with the loss, only to bring them down between her legs and brush against her folds.</p><p>She spreads them with a near inaudible gasp, and from this low angle, Thomas can see the sheer <em>wetness</em> glistening there. He still has a lot of work to do should he want James’ hole to match hers, he thinks. But he watches her as she slips her fingers along the ridged edges, gasping when they come together around her clit. Her hips jolt a little, and James lets out a low moan. Thomas only realises then that they are both watching her.</p><p>“As breath-taking as you are, my dear, you are bringing us to a halt,” Thomas tells her, and she lets out a huff of laughter.</p><p>“Only as long as you let yourself stop,” she tells him. “Go on. I want a show as much as you do. And you are right, James looks ever so gorgeous when you wet his cunt like that.”</p><p>James’ eyes nearly roll back from the words, his moan drawn-out. Thomas can see the dribble his cock has spread all over the vanity. He hums, and goes back to work.</p><p>“Do you think you can come like this?” he asks between licks, as James keens against his tongue. “With me tongue-fucking your hole? Can you come on my tongue like a wanton slut?”</p><p>“I – I don’t know,” James admits breathlessly, honest as ever with them. “Thomas, please –”</p><p>“It’s alright,” Thomas tells him, soothing. “We’ll work you over until you do, and if you can’t, we’ll bring you over the edge some other way. Until then, I want to hear you.”</p><p>“Yes,” James breathes. “Yes, please, just keep fucking me, I feel so loose and wet, keep fucking me like this…”</p><p>Thomas is grateful suddenly that Miranda has found a better use for her fingers, because with his tongue free, James has started raining down filth on them both.</p><p>“Perhaps I don’t even need to come,” he tells them as Thomas licks and fucks and slurps against his hole. “You fuck me like this forever, wet and loose, keep me high on it… Fuck, Miranda, is this what it’s like? To have a cunt dripping with slick? To feel loose and pliant? Does my hole look good?”</p><p>Miranda lets out a startled moan, and Thomas can hear the wet sound of her delving her fingers deep into herself, can hear her speed increasing.</p><p>“Miranda,” Thomas mutters, and James lets out another groan of frustration at the loss of his tongue. “Miranda, how close are you?”</p><p>“Not far off,” Miranda admits breathlessly. “God, the filth from you, James…”</p><p>“I want him to make you come,” Thomas tells her, and speaking of James as if he has no voice in the matter seems to do something for him as his hips nearly jolt again. “I want you to come, and with your slick, I want you to help him over the edge.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” James hisses. “Thomas, please –”</p><p>“How does that sound, James?” Thomas asks. “Getting the juices of an actual woman to drip from you, running down your legs like you are a wanton whore? You look pretty enough for it in that robe…”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” James hisses at that. “Yes.”</p><p>“You want to come after all?”</p><p>“God, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>Thomas lets out a low chuckle. “He’s all yours, Miranda.”</p><p>Miranda slips off the vanity as Thomas returns to eat James out. “Place one of your hands here,” she tells James. “Palm up, yes, curl your fingers. Place it closer to me. That’s it.”</p><p>Thomas uses the moment he comes up for breath to briefly look at what is happening. He watches as Miranda swings her leg up so that she has one on each side of James’ left arm, her bum shoved back onto the vanity. She lifts herself up before lowering down over his hand. Thomas can see James’ fingers lip into her, and her eyes briefly flutter shut.</p><p>“Don’t move them, love,” she tells James. “Let me fuck your hand.”</p><p>She starts gyrating her hips, fucking herself on his fingers and grinding her clit against his palm. James is visibly shaking to hold himself still between them as he is being used. Thomas knows he should return to licking James out, but he’s too enamoured by the sight of Miranda, looking for all the world divine with her breasts out and sweat making her shoulders and thighs shine in the candlelight. She throws her head back, eyes fluttering a little as she bites her lip while she fucks herself.</p><p>“Come on,” she mutters, egging herself on. “God, you feel so good inside me, James, always so good for us, could fuck you for hours, lend yourself so beautifully to it, oh God, oh God –” Her breath hitches, litanies and blasphemies falling from her lips as she speeds up. Thomas and James both seem to have forgotten what they were doing, watching her as a shiver travels all the way up her body and she cries out.</p><p>Her the muscles of her upper thighs spasm, toes curling, and Thomas can see the slick gushing down onto James’ hand between her legs, glistening as a small puddle practically collects itself in his palm. They all let out a moan in unison, and when Miranda seems to come down from her orgasm a little, she lets out a small laugh at the sight of her men.</p><p>“Go on,” she tells James as she shakily dismounts from his arm. “I want you to get that deep inside you.” She leans in to nip softly at his lips, and he gasps. “Finger yourself with my slick,” she mutters against his mouth. “Let Thomas taste me on your hole, on your thighs.”</p><p>It takes a moment before he moves, reaching back a little sluggishly but carefully as to not spill her juices everywhere. He slips his fingers inside of himself, and the wetness mingles with Thomas’ saliva, running a little thickly down James’ fingers and into his hole, which flutters around his digits. The angle is awkward and he clearly can’t quite reach as deeply as he’d like, certainly not while he’s forced by their commands to keep his other hand on the vanity. Luckily, Thomas is there to save the day.</p><p>He surges forward, meeting James’ fingers with his mouth, licking around them and between them, spreading James’ hole further than it has so far and fucking him deep. He can taste Miranda so strongly, it’s almost too easy to imagine he’s eating her out instead, and he reaches up with one hand to grip the silk lying bunched up at the bottom of James’ back.</p><p>He eats him out sloppily, eagerly, and with the addition of fingers, together they quickly move James to the edge.</p><p>“Come on his tongue, James,” Miranda mutters, and though it’s spoken quietly, it’s as strong a command as if she called it out loud. “I know you can do this. You’re so close, so wet and open from us both. <em>Come.</em>”</p><p>And with a final curl of Thomas’ tongue that hits that sensitive spot within him, he comes <em>hard</em>, splattering come all over the vanity, hitting the mirror. Thomas stands up before he’s even done, rubbing his weeping prick through the mess of spit and slick before pressing in. It goes a little roughly, but James is slick enough, and Thomas fucks him through his orgasm until the squeezing of James’ arse – his <em>cunt</em> – throws Thomas over the edge as well, adding his come to the mix of fluids.</p><p>With the help of Miranda, they manage to make their way over to the bed, where they collapse in an exhausted heap. James lies on his stomach, utterly spent, while a tired Thomas lies between his legs, ever so carefully and gently lapping at his hole, cleaning up the excess fluids until all there is left is spit. James is boneless under his ministrations, humming as he left himself be cleaned out. Miranda meanwhile gets a damp cloth, because she knows that they’ll need a proper clean regardless.</p><p>She gently wipes off the men and then herself with one hand while the other has made its way to James’ hair again, gently carding through it.</p><p>“You were beautiful,” she tells him softly. “You still are. You are so good for us. So strong and good and beautiful.” The reverie in her words pierces the haze James seems to be floating in, and he lets the praise wash over him until any sign of retreating into himself and find some sliver of shame to cling onto has been washed away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Say hi or feel free to follow me on <a href="https://queer-crusader.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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